Billionaire's Valentine - A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Boss Office Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #7)

by Claire Adams

  "It's also when we have Joseph breathing down our necks. Crazy guests asking for room service. Ugh, and the weddings," she said dramatically.

  I giggled, biting into my croissant. The filling was warm and the pastry was flaky; little crumbs showered over my thighs. Joseph was our manager. He was a little frantic, but nice if you stayed on his good side.

  "Everything blows up when the tourists come. The island's fast asleep whenever it isn't peak season. Think about it, Makani; the people who come here are relying on us to make their trip unforgettable. People don't forget things like that. You don't forget experiences. That young couple from Arkansas, here for their island wedding. They'll remember you organized their first horseback ride as a married couple on the beach."

  "Uh-huh. They'll also remember their awesome island wedding when they're getting a divorce five years down the line because the guy hasn't been able to forget the pretty blonde who lei-ed him," she joked. I narrowed my eyes as she laughed.

  "You're too young to be this jaded," I said shaking my head.

  "I'm just being realistic. They're here on vacation. It isn't real life for them. Once they leave, they leave all this behind. They take their memories, but memories fade."

  "You don't want to be responsible for making one person's day better? Be the one behind that one memory that makes them smile when they’re feeling down?" I urged.

  "I just want to make it through another season in one piece."

  "I can't wait," I said smiling, having a sip of my coffee.

  "I want whatever you're smoking," she said shaking her head.

  She was like a forty-year-old woman in the body of a hot twenty-two-year-old. She had been born on Lanai and had lived in the islands all her life. She had started working right after high school and been supporting herself just as long. She could be a little serious, but was a great time when she let her hair down.

  We watched the tourists on the beach silently for a little while. Usually, the only people on the beach this early were people who wanted early morning runs or swims or elderly couples who wanted to walk the beaches while they were still quiet and fairly empty. It was nice. The wind blowing over the ocean towards us was fresh and salty.

  I knew the perfect song for this moment.

  "Mind if I play something?" I asked Makani. She said she didn't. I stole back into the house and came back out with my phone looking for the song. Remus had a song for every occasion.

  The sound came through the speaker. An acoustic demo – just clean vocals, piano, and percussion. I had chosen my favorite song from them. It was a slightly slower song, “Nikki Out of Sight,” which they had released before they were signed.

  One of the members, the pianist, Nate, had written it about his mother who had died when he was a kid. Not a lot of their newer fans seemed to like very much since they had done it in their older style. I liked the way they played now, but there was definitely a difference between their earlier and newer stuff.

  "This that band you like?" Makani asked.

  "There you go, I didn't even have to tell you who it was this time," I said smiling. I played Remus’s music often when we were together. Makani was steadfastly lukewarm about them, not from a lack of effort on my part. She didn't know any of the band members and didn’t listen unless we were together and I put it on, but she could probably name like, one album title if she tried.

  "I don't get it," she said, shaking her head.

  "Nate, one of the members, wrote the song for his mom."

  "Nikki is his mother?" she asked, pulling a face.

  "She died when he was young. The song's about how hard he would try not to forget her because the older he got, the longer she'd been gone." Makani nodded.

  "Is that why you like it? Because it’s miserable?” she asked.

  “It’s not miserable. It’s cathartic,” I insisted. She humored me by agreeing.

  She was one of the few people I’d met who didn’t love the band. I’d been listening to them since they had released their independent LP. They never had any Hawai’ian tour dates, so I’d never seen them live, but I imagined I’d probably combust if I was in the same room as they played their stuff.

  There was something really raw about their lyrics that I felt I could relate to. It was beautiful music, but their themes sometimes skewed a little dark. Loss, death, things that were scary to think about, but made me feel better about where I’d come from.

  I related, to this song at least, because my mother was dead, too. She hadn't been gone long enough for me to start forgetting her, but I had been fifteen when it had happened. That wasn't better or worse than losing her at an older or younger age – it always sucked to lose a parent.

  The song ended, and we quickly finished our breakfast. Makani waited as I got ready, and we left for work together, taking the short walk. The trail brought us up to the main building between the pool and the golf course.

  The resort was gorgeous. I had so much respect for the staff who cleaned and decorated, making sure it always looked amazing. There were always fresh flowers at our front desk every day. That was where we worked most of the time, checking people in and out and taking inquiries, but sometimes we’d coordinate luaus, events, parties, wedding receptions, things like that.

  Work was fun. It didn’t really feel like working, not to me anyway. I liked talking to people. Makani was professional and warm with all the information, and I liked to engage guests, ask them where they were from, whether they’d been to Lanai before, just make them feel comfortable. All I wanted was a smile back when I gave one.

  A few hours in, the phone rang. I picked it up, giving my usual introduction and greeting.

  "Abby?" Joseph barked. I jumped. I had never been in trouble at work before, but he always talked to us like we were. He was Samoan. Big and tall, and the sort of guy you didn't really want to know how mean and scary he could be, so you were always on your best behavior around him.

  "Yes, sir?" I squeaked, clearing my throat.

  "My office," he said shortly and hung up. I looked at the phone briefly before putting it down. Why did he want to see me? I knew I wasn't in trouble, but he tended to spend a lot of his time outside his office, chatting with guests and overseeing the staff.

  "What's up?" Makani asked.

  "Joseph wants to see me," I said.

  "Right now? Why?" I shrugged. I told her I'd be right back before leaving to go to his office. It was behind the reception area, through a door that was for staff only. I knocked before I went in. He was sitting at his desk. I smiled at him coming in. I saw his stone face mask drop for just a second, about to smile back before he stopped himself.

  "Abby, I need you to check the presidential suite," he said, getting straight to the point.

  "Which one?"

  "The Hulopoe suite; he wants the ocean views."

  "I'll get right on it," I said. I didn't want to ask why, but I was curious. He had said “he” wanted ocean views. Who was he talking about? I thought up a way to make the question less obvious. "Uh, any special instructions for housekeeping?" I asked.

  "If anything's wrong, have them fix it. We have a guest who wants the suite for the entire season. It needs to be perfect. Oh, and he requested a piano in his room and these drinks in his refreshment center," he said, handing me a list.

  I raised my eyebrows. The Four Seasons was already a swanky place, but if someone was taking a Presidential Suite for the whole summer, they had to be some sort of celebrity or billionaire – especially if he’d sent a wish list ahead of him. I bit my lip wondering who it was.

  "Can I ask who it is?" I asked carefully.

  "He's a musician. Nick Stone," he said.

  "Nate?" I asked quickly, correcting him. I cleared my throat and reeled it in. "Nate Stone?" I asked again, hoping he wasn't onto me.

  "Yeah, that must be him. Plays in a band. Rich father. He wants the suite for three months. He is an extremely important guest, checks in today. I know I can tru
st you to make his stay unforgettable," he said, giving me one of his rare smiles. He had them all the time for the guests, but not for us. I think he did it to scare us – keep us in line.

  I nodded because if I opened my mouth, I'd probably scream. Nate Stone. Nate Stone was coming here. I was about to meet Nate Stone. I would be able to see Nate Stone every day for the next three months. Joseph dismissed me and I left the room, feeling like my skin was on fire.

  Ohmygod, Nate Stone. I wanted to scream. I had just been talking about him with Makani that morning.

  Whew. Down girl. I had to get a grip. I had work to do. I hurried back to the desk.

  In a few hours, I’d be meeting Nate Stone. I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Three

  Nate

  The first time I'd been to Hawai'i was over a decade ago. My mother had lived there for years before she moved to San Francisco and met my dad.

  Whenever we went on vacation, we'd come to Hawai'i. We would stay at this private villa on the beach on the Big Island. The staff who worked at the house had kids my age who I'd play with, and we'd always stay there for weeks at a time before going back home. Every night, my parents and I would take a walk together on the private beach. I remember I'd always be up first because I liked watching the fishing boats on the water when the sun was coming up.

  After she died, we never went back to the house again. We'd stay at hotels. Five-star places that had been nice, but they'd never really felt like home; and since she was gone anyway, it was never really the same. I just remembered a lot of babysitters since Dad would always take his work with him, something he had never done on vacation with Mom.

  I had tried to figure out what happened to that house we used to stay in; it had been demolished and a golf resort had gone up instead.

  Guess the Four Seasons was a good enough second pick. I don't know what I would have done in the old house if it had still been standing. It had been a long time, like twenty years, so there was no way it would have still looked the same, anyway.

  Even if I had been able to stay there, maybe the isolation wouldn't have been the best thing for me at a time like this. It sort of sounded like the kind of place where I'd slowly lose my mind. Somewhere it would take a hell of a long time for anyone to find me if I fucked up and overdosed or something.

  Yeah. The Four Seasons it was. At least if I OD'd there, I'd be found the next morning by housekeeping.

  I'd never been to their hotel on Lanai, but I'd stayed at their Vegas location, and it would just be like that but with palm trees, right? All I wanted was three months where I didn't have to be Nate Stone. Remus, and my label, and Kirsten could all go to hell. I just wanted to relax, goddamn it. Was that too much to ask?

  My life was a fucking garbage fire. Maybe it would still be a mess when I got back, but there was a chance I'd get my head out of my ass long enough while I was on the island to actually sort it out. If nothing else, I could just pretend that everything wasn't completely horrible. I could get massages and be a tourist for a while. And when I went back, I'd just cut everyone off and become a hermit.

  Or maybe I'd spend so much time in Hawai'i I wouldn't want to go back at all. There was an idea, I thought. Isn't that what people did? Sort of like moving off the grid, but not really because Hawai'i was not the middle of nowhere. I'd change my name, get a boring job like selling cars, get really fat and be happy. Anything was better than my life now. It literally could only go up from here. This was the fucking bottom.

  I managed to sit through the entire flight without killing myself. It was an early morning flight but they were serving booze, thank God, so it could have been worse. They only had wine, which I didn't usually drink, but after like three glasses, eight hours really flies by.

  I was feeling okay by the time we landed. No shaking. No sweating. Nobody on the plane asking me for autographs or taking my picture, either. Honestly, one of the better flights I'd taken commercially – but I made a mental note to just spare myself the bullshit the next time I wanted to go somewhere.

  As I got off the plane, I immediately regretted wearing my hoodie. It was hot, but there was a nice breeze, so it wasn't too humid. I'd take the hoodie off, but I wasn't in the clear yet. It was better safe than sorry. I wasn’t on the Big Island, but all it took was one person recognizing you. If word got out that I was here, then I could kiss my vacation goodbye.

  Had my assistant said anything to the hotel about privacy? I hoped so. Why hadn't I done all this shit myself, I thought. I knew what the actual answer to that question was, but I decided I hadn't because it was Casey's job to do things like that for me and that was what I paid her for. Yeah. That reason was better than me just being too strung out to do it myself. The point wasn't to be truthful – it was to make myself feel better about being a junkie.

  I went through arrivals, grabbing my luggage off the carousel, and exiting the building to the parking bay where drivers were waiting to pick up passengers and hotel shuttles were filling up to take people where they needed to go. Casey had told me that the Four Seasons had sent me a car so I didn't have to worry about getting one myself. Good, I thought. The more things they could do without me having to ask them, the better.

  I was on vacation. I was officially tapped out. Whatever was happening in LA, with the band, with Kirsten, I didn't want to hear it. I didn't give a fuck. I was officially too far away for it to touch me.

  Three months of sand, sun, and hot Hawai'ian girls. I walked up to the car. The driver was this older Hawai'ian guy, about my dad's age. He was wearing a uniform with the Four Seasons logo and holding a card with my name on it. He smiled, seeing me walking over to him.

  "Mr. Stone?" he asked.

  "Call me Nate. The hotel sent you?" I asked. He said they had as he reached for my suitcase. I stopped him because I could do it myself. I was also a little shifty about people handling my bag when I knew what I had in there.

  "Is this your first time on Lanai?" he asked. I heaved my suitcase up into the trunk.

  "Yep. First time." He said something else, but I didn't hear him from where I was at the back of the car. I felt a drop in my stomach, and my palms started sweating. Oh no. It was happening. It had been ten hours since my last dose and I was feeling it. I shut my eyes and tried to stop it.

  I had been mostly fine the entire way here on the plane. Even if I had wanted to, there would have been no way that I could have shot up in the middle of a full first-class cabin. I wasn't on the plane anymore, though. My kit was right in my suitcase. My suitcase was right in front of me.

  Don't do it, Nate. Come on. You just got here. You left all that shit behind. I was here. I wasn't stressed anymore. No. It had nothing to do with stress – I was just a junkie.

  "Hey, could you wait a second for me? I just gotta go take a leak," I said quickly to my driver. He said I could take as long as I needed. I only needed a second. Just something so I didn't get dope sick. I quickly got my kit out of my suitcase, sliding it under my hoodie. I went back into the airport building to find a restroom, locking myself into a stall.

  My heart was pounding in my head. I got my kit out, unzipping it quickly. I tore the wrapper off the syringe and nearly dropped the vial of heroin trying to fill it. I held it between my teeth, belting my arm, and quickly sinking the needle into my skin.

  Not enough to take me out. Just enough so I didn't start withdrawing. It was dangerous quitting cold turkey, anyway. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, you fucking piece of shit, I thought.

  I took the belt off my arm, letting my head fall back against the door of the bathroom stall. At least I wasn't homeless, robbing a 711 for money to buy dirty stuff on the street. At least I didn't have hepatitis from sharing needles. As far as heroin addicts went, I could have been a lot worse. I was still using, but at least I wanted to quit.

  That had to count for something. I wasn't doped to my eye sockets, just passed out all day. I hadn't lost my house and alienated myself from all the people who l
oved me.

  Okay, maybe I had done that second one.

  I felt myself coming up. As much as I wanted to quit, I couldn't pretend I didn't fucking love that high. It was like looking at everything underwater. Like it wasn't so sharp or hard anymore. Soft focus.

  I could quit later. It wasn't a big deal. The road to recovery was a long one. Baby steps, that was what mattered the most, right? I only used enough to keep me from getting sick anyway, not even really to numb out.

  You really had to master ninja-level denial when you were a drug user. I could make excuses all day long, but the hard truth was I hated it. I hated that I had to use that shit. I hated that my body literally became sick when I hadn't injected poison into it. I hated that it controlled me.

  I hid my kit under my hoodie, coming out of the stall. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I walked back outside, heading for the car.

  I realized I must have looked suspicious and dropped the hood. The crowd of people still waiting for rides was a lot smaller. If someone was going to recognize me now, it didn't matter because I was leaving anyway. My kit from the outside just looked like a smaller, black instrument case. I just stuffed it into my backpack and got into the backseat of the car.

  "Are you all right?" the driver asked. He was looking back at me sort of concerned. I tried to smile at him.

  "Yeah, I'm great. Let's just go." He started the car.

  "Did you have a good flight?" he asked. Wonderful, I had gotten Chatty Cathy as my cabbie. The dope had taken the edge off, though, and I was finally here. It was beautiful outside. The sun was shining. The air smelled clean, and it was quiet. He was just doing his job. I didn't need to be an asshole to this guy.

  "It was great. Long, though."

  "Where did you fly in from?"

  "Los Angeles."

  "Vacation?"

  "Yeah, I just needed a little break."

  "You came to the right place. Tell me, do you golf?" he asked.

  "No, I don't," I said, wondering what he would say to that.

  "It'll help you relax. The Four Seasons has one of the best courses on the island."